


Monocular

by Windymon



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Coping with disability, Disability, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windymon/pseuds/Windymon
Summary: Compared to the ruin of his home and losing his Prince, losing an eye was no big deal.





	Monocular

**Author's Note:**

> Vaguely set in Legion era, I guess. Some of the world building was lovingly inspired by other authors on here

Lor'themar nocked his bow, aimed and fired.

The arrow hit where he had expected it to, right in the center of the worn old tree trunk at the far end of the dilapidated garden. Despite the many marks the tree had acquired over the years, it still lived, as evidenced by the golden leaves it still bore.

He'd started coming here, after Kael'thas had placed him in Sunfury Spire to lead in his stead, not only as an escape, but also as a place to train.

When he'd received the wound which had destroyed his left eye, he had been flippant about it, wiping the blood off his face and remarking that he only aimed with one eye anyway.

But it had affected him in other, subtle ways that he could not have foreseen at the time, and with a fervent desire to appear to be that rock his people sorely needed, he had to find ways to lessen the impact of the injury. He could not appear weak, not then, not now.

And that meant training, somewhere out of the public eye.

Missing the glass when he was pouring drinks at a meeting had been awkward the first time, but he learned from that mistake. But that was no life or death event.

Judging distance while fighting, now that was a very important skill to have, if you wanted to remain a living, breathing elf, though opportunities to fight were not as frequent anymore.

He had been much relieved to discover that his archery skills truly were not as affected by the loss, at least not when the target remained relatively stationary, like the poor, suffering tree. But with movement... Well, that took some adapting to, forced him to become faster, getting off a second arrow while the target was still in the same area. Same thing when fighting in close quarters, with his one eye working to compensate, but with training, he found himself slowly, but surely adapting to it.

Halduron had been most gracious, humoring him with a number of sparring sessions here and there, never asking any questions about the reason for it, accepting that they were simply "letting off steam".

One time they'd been sharing a pipe afterwards, watching the sun set and Halduron had peered over at him.

"You look a bit like a skittish Hawkstrider, whipping its head around", he'd said, blowing smoke rings into the evening air. No judgement in it, just a simple statement.

He still remembered the Scout Captain's concern on the Isle of Thunder, that he should not be so close to the front lines, as well as his own response to it.

That was where he belonged, where he had worked so hard to still belong, monocular vision be damned. Yet, there had been moments of weakness, of doubt, when an arrow had missed its mark, all those wasted shots from the bow of the ship, those flying creatures overhead, moving too fast.

But that was why he came here, aiming shot after shot at that tree, to remind himself of what he had overcome, reminding himself that he was still a threat to anyone who would dare oppose him, or his people.

And claiming that he could outshoot Nathanos any day of the week? He was pretty sure there was no lie in that statement. After all, the Queen's Champion was so slow on his feet, that it would be just like shooting at the tree.

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Tumblr earlier, thought it should go here as well.


End file.
